


Waiting

by starraya



Series: the art of learning your lover [1]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Strong Language, complete fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6401335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starraya/pseuds/starraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was tired of waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

After a stretch inside, Franky had learnt to appreciate the small things in life. Not having to give a damn whether her gaze lingered too long on a certain psychologist - and being able to _let_ it linger - was certainly high on her list of  _good things_ right now. It was up there with the fact that she was now officially free, that she'd just been driven by a hot girl in a hot car away from the barbed wire topped gates of Wentworth Correctional Facility. Oh, and that in front of Franky's very eyes, the hot girl was currently leaning down to retrieve a bottle of wine, from the inside of the fridge in her kitchen, in the most _wonderful_ blue jeans. 

When Bridget turned round, shut the fridge door and placed the bottle of wine on the curved side of a kitchen island counter that Franky was currently standing opposite, her grin made it plain that she knew the younger woman had been staring. 

"Isn't a bit early for a drink?" Franky asked.

"What? You don't want one?"

"I didn't say that. I just never had you down you as the type of gal who'd hit the grog mid-afternoon."

"We're celebrating. I've decided to make an exception," Bridget said as she went to open a kitchen cupboard and took out two glasses, "Anyway, what type did you have me down as?"

"I'm not really sure, Gidget," Franky momentarily ran her tongue over her teeth before continuing, "Other than the fact you've got a fine taste in cars - and women - I don't know much about what makes you _tick_."

"Then, tell me what you'd liked to know." 

Franky made her way over to where Bridget was now standing, at the opposite end of the kitchen island, wine glasses in hand. The younger woman stood close behind her, but not close enough to touch her. 

"Everything," Franky answered. 

Bridget placed the wine glasses down on the counter and turned around to face Franky. 

"Well," Bridget paused for a second before whispering, "I'm all yours."

In response Franky placed her hands flat on the kitchen counter either side of Bridget, trapping the older woman between Franky's body and the surface. Franky heard Bridget's sharp intake of breath, watched Bridget's eyes flickered down to her lips, just as they had done all those weeks ago in the prison kitchen. Only there was one difference. One big difference. The couple could do whatever they wished. They were no rules. No screws. No bars between them. There was no rush either. No need to make sure they didn't talk too long together, or stand too close. They could take as long as they wanted. _Talk_  as long as they wanted. 

Only neither of them had spoken. 

Franky wanted to live in this moment for as long as possible. Here she was, in Bridget Westfall's kitchen. And there Bridget was, right in front of Franky. It felt so fucking surreal, but at the same time it felt so unbelievably right. Earlier when Bridget had picked her up, Franky hadn't really had the time to let the shock sink in, too interested in finally finding out what the other woman's lipstick tasted like. Too busy enjoying one of the best moments of her life. But now, in this moment, Franky had a chance to take in every last detail of her first day of parole. Every last detail of the woman whose house Franky was standing in. Without her heels Bridget was a few inches shorter than Franky, and the older woman had taken off and hung up her green scarf and leather jacket. Out of her work clothes, standing in her kitchen with her hair loose and down, she looked so un-Bridget. 

Being out of prison was far more fucking overwhelming than Franky would ever admit, but, once you got out, Franky had discovered that it was the little details you noticed the most. Like how she had all the freedom in the world to trail her hand up the smooth skin of Bridget's bare right arm - just for an instant. Franky smiled as she watched Bridget subconsciously lick her lips. For a shrink the woman didn't half show her feelings, instead of concealing them. But, of course, Franky had learnt - much to her infuriation at times - that Bridget was, to her credit, a true professional. If Bridget showed her feelings, Franky reckoned it was because she'd chosen not to try to conceal them in Franky's presence. As much as Franky liked to think it was because Bridget simply couldn't help it, Franky had had enough sessions with the psychologist to know that Bridget had known there was no reason to deny what she felt. Bridget had wanted to build up a trust with Franky, and that didn't come by playing games. Bridget wasn't the type to play games. That Franky did know. 

_Not just a game to be played. Not just a box to be ticked._

The memory of Bridget's words to her in the prison yard all those months ago, combined as well with the fact that the two were now standing so close, just like they had in the library, made a new strange wave of surreal-ness and familiarity wash over Franky. She couldn't help letting a laugh slip from her lips. She was fucking standing in Bridget's Westfall's kitchen. 

At Franky's laughter, Bridget smiled. Franky Doyle laughing - so genuinely, so care-freely - was a sight Bridget couldn't help but fall instantly in love with - even if it might have been at her expense. In mock annoyance Bridget raised her eyebrows. 

"Something funny?"

"Nah," Franky said, before chuckling.

Bridget found that she couldn't help but laugh at Franky's blatant lie. 

"Okay," Bridget said. Playfully, she leant in to whisper into Franky's ear. "I don't believe you."

Whether it was because of the way Bridget's voice had dropped gloriously low, or because of the way her hot breath had felt on the skin of Franky's neck, or the way the older woman's eyes had shone with lust when Bridget had drawn back to face her, Franky wasn't quite sure, but she decided that all of a sudden - even though that they had all the time in the world - she was tired of waiting. Of talking. 

 "Thing is Gidge," Franky admitted as she - overcome with an irresistible urge - ran her fingers through Bridget's loose, soft hair. "I don't feel so thirsty." After pushing a strand of hair behind Bridget's ear, Franky lightly brushed her fingers over Bridget's jawline before gently tilting Bridget's head up towards hers. 

"Is that so?" Bridget remarked before sliding her hand up into Franky's hair and pulling her closer so that she could crush her lips onto Franky's.

Yes, Franky thought as she slipped her tongue into the other's woman mouth, she was so fucking done with waiting. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh, so I'm hella nervous about posting this as it's the first time I've written for this fandom and because the fic I've read for this fandom is just amazing, but I just couldn't resist writing something since I've fallen in love with this couple. I hope you like it. It's just one of a few scenes that my mind has thought up of - and won't let go of.


End file.
